


A Succession of Brief, Amazing Moments

by Woldy



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Education, F/F, First Kiss, Founders fic, Friends to Lovers, POV Female Character, Rare Pairing, Relationship(s), Romance, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:29:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woldy/pseuds/Woldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A portrait of  their relationship in six scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Succession of Brief, Amazing Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shyath](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shyath).



> Many thanks to my betas [](http://gyzym.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**gyzym**](http://gyzym.dreamwidth.org/) , [](http://nuclearsugars.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**nuclearsugars**](http://nuclearsugars.dreamwidth.org/) &amp; [](http://lokifan.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lokifan**](http://lokifan.dreamwidth.org/) . The title is borrowed from Adrienne Rich.

The sun is low in the sky as Helga trudges across the field towards a grey stone building. Her feet slip on the muddy ground and her muscles ache from long days of riding. The wind tugs at her cloak, tangling it round her legs, and blows the chimney-smoke into her face.

When she reaches the door, Helga takes a moment to smooth down her hair and clothing before knocking. Even so, the servant who answers gives her a dismissive look, eyes flickering over Helga's mud-splattered gown and peasant boots.

"Yes? What do you want?"

"I seek an audience with the Lady Ravenclaw. My name is Helga Hufflepuff and I'm a Healer. I've brought a letter of introduction from Healer Woodley in Nottingham."

Helga holds out the scroll and the servant takes it. "I'll let her know you're here," she says, in a tone that suggests Lady Ravenclaw isn't going to like this news at all.

The servant returns promptly and announces "Lady Ravenclaw will see you." She doesn't offer to take Helga's cloak, which openly suggests that Helga's audience with her mistress is likely to be disappointingly brief.

When Helga enters the study, she finds a fair woman in a blue gown sitting at an ornate wooden desk. The woman - Lady Ravenclaw, she supposes - is bent over a manuscript and doesn't look up.

Well, Helga has dealt with rudeness and arrogance before. After planning this meeting for months and traveling for ten days to get here, she is going to say her piece regardless.

"I'm a Healer,” Helga begins, "and a scholar in the practical sense. My community is in the western valleys, so you probably haven't heard about us, but our mission is to help anyone who needs it, no matter their wealth or birth. My apprentices work hard and our herbal garden is very fine," _the best in the country_, she adds silently, "but I wish we could do more. I hear your Roman manuscripts contain medical learning that is unknown in these lands, and we would be grateful for it. One of my apprentices is talented and reads Latin well, so I wondered if I might send her to you. We would be grateful for the knowledge, and I believe a healer would be better able to translate the spells and potions. It would be of benefit to us both."

Lady Ravenclaw is silent, but she finally looks up from the scroll.

"I do not take apprentices. I am very busy with my work."

Helga stares, considering whether she should explain about the dozens of patients she has watched die for the lack of better charms, poultices and potions. Lady Ravenclaw's skin is pale from reading in dim rooms and her hands, laid on the desk, look soft. She is not a woman that Helga can imagine helping with childbirth or mopping the brow of a man with a fever. Perhaps, to a noblewoman who loves knowledge for its own sake, the lives of ordinary people don't matter at all.

"I am sorry for that," Helga says, with feeling. "I am staying at the inn. Please let me know if you change your mind."

Outside the sun has sunk behind the hills, and Helga walks back across the fields by wandlight.

It is frustrating to be refused after traveling such a distance, especially since Helga hoped a woman might prove more helpful than the arrogant Lords and Abbots she has met in the past. Still, if Lady Ravenclaw cannot see the benefit of combining their knowledge, then she will find another scholar who can. It is not in her nature to give up.

The lights of the inn are still shining brightly, and Helga checks on her horse - who is munching contentedly - before going inside. She drinks a bowl of hot stew, thanks the landlord for his hospitality, and retires to bed. Although the room is small, the blankets are thick and Helga quickly falls asleep.

Helga is awoken by the dawn chorus, and she remembers the previous night's meeting with annoyance. Her horse needs to be rested before the ride home, but Helga has never struggled to find activities to occupy herself.

Years ago Helga learned to channel her emotions into productive activity. Now, she dresses quickly and goes downstairs, slipping outside into the garden.

The garden beside the kitchen is well stocked with herbs and vegetables, and raspberry canes guard it from wind on two sides, but Helga sees the weeds poking up between the plants. She bends over and begins to take out her frustrations by weeding.

She has been pulling up thistles and dandelions for some time, knees caked with mud and hands red with the effort, when Helga is disturbed by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Helga sits back on her heels and looks up to see Lady Ravenclaw, her dark hair and cloak fluttering in the wind.

"I spoke too hastily," Lady Ravenclaw says, in a far more humble tone than the previous day. "I get so wrapped up in the texts that everything else seems like a distraction, but you're right. That knowledge should be put to use."

"So you'll help?"

Lady Ravenclaw hesitates. "I don't want sole responsibility for an apprentice. I suspect neither your gardens nor your patients are portable, but I can transport my scrolls if need be."

The sun is rising, tinting the sky a brilliant pink, and Helga takes a second to appreciate this symbol of new beginnings. Then she smiles, getting to her feet.

"I'm glad," she says, extending her hand, which is still damp and muddy.

Helga knows that this partnership will work when Lady Ravenclaw does not hesitate about grasping it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It doesn't take Helga long to decide that Rowena is the least embodied person she's ever met. Rowena works in an airless study that is cold in winter and stifling in summer, and needs to be reminded to eat regular meals. Helga has lost count of all the times she has checked on a patient late at night and found Rowena still bent low over a text.

Tonight, Rowena is working on a treatise about the magical treatment of marsh fever. The material is undoubtedly important, but Helga wonders if it justifies the long nights Rowena spends poring over the faded Latin by flickering candlelight.

"It'll still be here in the morning," Helga says and Rowena sits up, blinking.

"Is it late?"

"Everyone else is in bed."

Rowena rubs her hand across her eyes, suddenly looking tired.

"Right. Thank you for..."

&lt;/i&gt;Thank you for caring,&lt;/i&gt; Helga thinks. Over the past months she has become proficient at interpreting Rowena's silences and missing words.

"You're welcome," Helga says and Rowena smiles.

"I eat better than I ever used to. I think you're good for me."

"I'm a Healer, it's what we do," Helga says lightly, telling herself not to read too much into Rowena's words.

A few days later, Helga is in the middle of brewing an elixir - _a handful of crushed mint and nine stirs clockwise, two sprigs of lavender and three stirs widdershins, one leaf of bay_ \- when Rowena leans in and presses a single dry kiss to the side of her mouth.

Helga drops the spoon. For a moment she just gawps, completely unable to remember what she was doing.

"It's not urgent," Rowena says, stepping back. "You should finish your potion. I just... I had an instinct and I couldn't resist it. I hope we can talk later, but I should leave you to work."

Rowena nods towards the cauldron, and walks quickly out of the kitchen, her cheeks pink.

Helga stares after her, and then a hiss from the cauldron jolts her back to the task at hand. _Two more stirs clockwise and then four burdock leaves_ she tells herself, picking up the spoon. Still, Helga can't resist raising her other hand to touch the tingling spot where _Rowena kissed her_.

She finishes brewing the potion with only half her attention on the task, while the other half of her mind dwells on Rowena's flushed cheeks, and fantasies about her mouth.

Yes, when Helga has finished treating her patients, she will definitely have something to say - and to do - about this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

They are getting ready for bed when the owl arrives, tapping its beak against the windowpane. Helga sighs as she goes to answer it. The bird hops inside and waits patiently as she unties the letter, before soaring off into the night.

Helga reads the letter through twice, sighs again, and drops the roll of parchment.

"What is it?"

"Godric objects to Salazar's plan to put the classrooms underground, and insists that we build towers. Apparently an overly defensive approach to the school's architecture is an admission of cowardice."

"He said 'cowardice'?" Rowena asks, pausing in the act of combing her hair.

One could be forgiven for thinking Rowena vain for combing her hair every night, but then Rowena has beautiful hair. Some nights Helga combs it for her, enjoying how the silky slide over her hands, and noting the thin lines of grey that are starting to appear amidst the black.

"Yes," says Helga, sitting down on the bed. "Pray he hasn't said it to Salazar, or it'll take us six months to get them on speaking terms again."

Rowena puts down the comb. "Oh dear."

"Remind me why we're doing this, again?"

"Because if we try to squeeze any more students in here then they'll have to start sleeping on the stairs." Rowena replies, sitting beside her. "And I seem to remember you claiming that I'd been seduced by the promise of access to Salazar's scrolls."

"I stand by that," Helga says, half-smiling as she remembers Rowena's thrilled expression at the promise of new texts.

"The only thing I'm seduced by is you," says Rowena calmly. "Really, it will be all right. We'll build a damn great castle and they'll both be happy. Salazar can have his dungeons, Godric will get a tower or two, and there'll be us in between to keep the peace."

"I'm sure they'll still find something to argue over, like whose stairs are bigger or --"

"Then we'll find a way of fixing it," Rowena says, lifting a hand to cup Helga's cheek. "I think I could manage a moving staircase."

Rowena kisses her, a gentle, soothing kiss, and Helga tilts her head towards it. Rowena's hand slides to the nape of her neck, and it sends little shivers of desire down her spine.

Helga twists round, catching Rowena's waist to pull her closer, and feels Rowena arch towards her. Rowena's lips part, and Helga tastes the sweet residue of mead on her tongue.

The kiss is familiar, comfortable, but no less desired for that. In her head, Helga has a map of Rowena's body with lines marked out: where Rowena is ticklish; where she likes to be touched; what spots make her moan or scream. However much detail Helga collects, their knowledge of one another is never quite complete.

Rowena releases her and falls backwards onto the bed, hooking her leg around Helga's hip to tug her down. Helga follows, angling her head to catch Rowena's mouth again. She can feel Rowena's heartbeat against her ribcage, their chests rising and falling together, and Rowena's breath is hot against her cheek.

Helga cups her hand around Rowena's breast and brushes a thumb across the nipple, which is just visible through the white fabric, eliciting a gasp. When she repeats the movement, Rowena makes a hoarse needy sound as though words are caught in her throat. Helga pulls open the laces on Rowena's shirt, sliding it over her head, and soon neither of them are wearing anything at all.

The candlelight accentuates every curve of Rowena's body, shadowing the line of her throat and the dips beside her hipbones, while her breasts gleam in the warm light. Helga traces the patterns with her lips, kissing her way down Rowena's stomach until she reaches the pool of shadow between Rowena's hips. She stays there until Rowena throws back her head and writhes, arching off bed, and the movements disturb the candle flame so that shadows swing wildly around the room.

As she blows out the candle, Helga reflects that this is a far better use of wax than the long, lonely nights Rowena used to spend reading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Professor Hufflepuff?"

Helga looks up from the plate of bread rolls - as ever, thanks to the exemplary cooking of the house elves - into the pale, anxious face of a student.

"Yes, Peter?"

"I tried the Draught of Peace again, but it went all lumpy and I don't know what I did wrong. Can you could explain it to me again?"

Helga mentally lists the tasks she still has to do that evening, which include preparing for tomorrow's advanced potions group. One day she'll develop a better system than picking the ingredients fresh, but for the meantime she visits the school's grounds and gardens before every class.

"Not tonight, but we can go over it again tomorrow. You may find that you understand the recipe better after some sleep."

"Thank you, Professor," Peter replies, sounding relieved, and Helga watches him return to the long wooden table of Ravenclaw house.

"Sometimes I think they're trying too hard," says Helga, and takes a mouthful of stew.

"Maybe you should write them a potions text. Then the students will be able to look it up instead of asking you," Rowena suggests.

This is an old argument between them about the merits of verbal versus written education, and Helga doesn't rise to it.

"I don't think the problem is conceptual. Something in his head needs to _click_ and he'll get it. I just wish there was a way of helping them to focus."

"Can you devise a potion for that?"

"If I did, the students would be using it to cheat within weeks," Helga says, and Rowena grimaces in acknowledgement that this is true. "It would have to be something visible."

"A tool, then?" Rowena muses, her spoon dangling in midair and dinner temporarily forgotten. "Something like the Sorting Hat?"

"Yes!" says Helga, obviously louder than she intended, because the students look up in surprise. "A thinking cap! We'll know if someone's wearing it, and everyone will get a turn."

"I'm not sure Hogwarts wants another magical hat..." Rowena says thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling.

Helga recognizes Rowena's expression from their earlier projects to charm the staircases and devise anti-Muggle wards, neither of which was easy. Rowena has never been able to resist this kind of challenge, and Helga knows that the next few days will be filled with furious research and experimental late-night spellcasting.

"Perhaps a tiara?" Rowena suggests, and they share a smile at the thought of the prouder male students wearing something that effeminate.

"Perhaps," Helga says, stifling the urge to laugh. "I'm sure we'll come up with something."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

There are some moments every parent remembers: the first sight of your child, red and squalling; their first word or step; the first spell they cast.

Helena has Rowena's diadem balanced on her head - so big that it almost slips over her ears - as she points Helga's wand at a bunch of daffodils. Helga suspects that one of those perfectly-remembered moments is imminent.

"Wingardium leviosa!" Helena says loudly, and the flowers float slowly into the air. The daffodils hover for a few seconds before Helena's concentration falters and they fall to the floor.

Helena turns to her, expression uncertain and seeking approval.

"That was perfect!" Helga says, pulling her daughter into a hug and kissing the top of her head. "Your mother will be very proud of you."

Helena looks up at her through the long fringe, a slight frown on her face. "Does this mean I have to take the diadem off?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Now that you know how to do it now, you don't need the diadem to help."

"But I think better when I'm wearing it," Helena says in the logical voice she could only have learned from Rowena. "Why can't I wear it always?"

"Because the diadem is for learning new things, not for wearing all the time. Your mum doesn't like anybody to wear it too much, because it's not fair for other people to miss out."

"But my mothers invented it," protests Helena, a mulish expression on her face.

Internally, Helga winces. She doesn't regret starting Hogwarts and will never regret the decision to have a child with Rowena, but she wishes it weren't so hard on Helena.

Any child would find it hard to grow up in a school, always the youngest and having to share their parents all the students. Helena has inherited Rowena's perfectionist streak, and Helga can see her frustration at watching other children perform spells she can only dream about. In a few years Helena will be a student herself, running in the corridors and laughing with classmates, but now she is an outsider and Helga understands why her daughter resents it.

To her surprise, Godric was the one responsible for Helena's name. He'd looked horribly awkward he'd looked holding her, as though the baby were a piece of unknown weaponry that might explode at any moment but he was determined to brave it nonetheless.

"She has Rowena's eyes," he'd said, peering into the baby's face. "But since her nose isn't stuck in a book, perhaps there's more of your temperament."

"I heard that, Godric," Rowena called reproachfully from the bed. "She'll read in her own time."

The baby gurgled at him, chubby fingers reaching towards his beard.

"Rowlga sounds like a goblin," Godric said gruffly, "but Helena might work. If you like it."

"I like it very much," Helga said, looking towards Rowena who smiled her agreement.

Now, Helena is still glaring through her fringe, and Helga makes a mental note that her daughter's hair needs cutting.

"We're your mums, but we're also teachers," Helga explains. "Other people need to use the diadem too, but we will always love you best. Now, I'll put it away then we'll tell your mum that you cast your first spell. All right?"

Helena nods, but there's still a trace of a frown on her face.

"There's my girl," Helga says, lifting the diadem from her head and returning it to the wooden box on the shelf.

The door to Rowena's study is closed, and when Helga pushes it open she finds Rowena reading as usual.

"Helena has something to tell you," she says, and Rowena looks up with a smile.

"What is it, darling?"

"I did my first spell!" Helena announces proudly, still holding Helga's wand. "I levitated the flowers and next time I'll do it without the diadem!"

"That's wonderful," Rowena tells her, sharing a fond glance with Helga before looking back to her daughter. "Are you tired?"

"No," Helena says, sounding put out at the suggestion. "I could do loads more magic."

Rowena blows out the candle on her desk and gets to her feet. "In that case, why don't you try again now? You can show me how you do it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

There are over a hundred steps in the Astronomy Tower, and Helga is panting when she reaches the top, but she finds what she's seeking in the starlight. A tall figure leans against the stone wall, looking out over the school grounds.

"What are you doing up here?"

"Just enjoying the quiet," Rowena says, without moving.

Helga walks up behind her, moving cautiously on the damp flagstones, and wraps her arms around Rowena. She nuzzles her cheek against the downy skin of Rowena's neck, and Rowena leans back, her body warm and solid against Helga's own.

The view in front of them is beautiful: the black expanse of forest, the still lake, and the stars glittering above. In the distance, Helga can see the dim light of the inn at Hogsmeade, where they will soon meet nearly two hundred students travelling on horseback, by coach, or on foot.

Tomorrow they will begin the fiftieth year of teaching at Hogwarts, authoritative voices raised above the clamour of the students. Tonight, as they stand here together and survey what they've built, there is no need for words.


End file.
